


Big Boys Don't Cry

by RationalNumber



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:07:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28453593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RationalNumber/pseuds/RationalNumber
Summary: Three months after suffering from an injury that brings a halt to Bokuto Kotarou’s volleyball career, Akaashi Keiji finds himself in a losing battle to bring back the man he once called his.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	Big Boys Don't Cry

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my year-ender gift for all of you who read my works. Thank you so much. Every kudos and comment meant a lot to me :).
> 
> Also, I'd like to request an advanced apology if this isn't on par with my other works in terms of quality, this is kind of a rushed work :(
> 
> I hope you still enjoy it though.

“Akaashi, have you finished your endorsement?” Kuroo asked, his freakish jet-black hair bouncing lightly as he placed the tray of evacuated tubes, all filled with blood, in front of Akaashi.

Keiji pushed the center of his glasses inward as he stifled a yawn, “Yep. Why do you ask?” He replies, palms planted on his tailbone as he arced his body outwards, groaning in pleasure when he feels his discs snap back into place.

Kuroo had busied himself with the centrifuge, matching tubes with similar volume, loading them adjacent to each other every time he got a match. “Did you work overtime again?”

The yawn finally managed to escape Akaashi’s lips, the hot air drifting up to fog his glasses, “Yep. Twelve hours.”

Kuroo spared him a look of concern before resuming his task, “Boyfriend still doesn’t have a job?”

Akaashi’s lips skewed, “Yeah. He’s still on the final stages of his therapy.” 

Kuroo shook his head and walked silently to the storage room, leaving Akaashi with the humming centrifuge. He sighed. Kuroo had always been concerned on his self-imposed overtime shifts, it’s not that he wants to earn more money—it was rooted over the fact that he _needed_ it.

The strings of fate had not been kind to Akaashi ever since his boyfriend of five years, Bokuto Kotarou had to forcibly leave his volleyball career due to a femoral fracture that left him mildly incapacitated—enough for his coach and handler to request him to retire early.

He was so deep in thought he didn’t notice Kuroo’s return, “Akaashi.”

“Yes?” He replies, the dreadful memory in him dissipating to the strong smell of chlorine and reagents of the laboratory.

“You should clock out. Go home, get a good bubble bath going and rest.” 

Akaashi nodded. Rest and bath would be nice. 

He walked towards the exit, his fatigued legs and ankles felt like lead as he dragged himself across the room. His vision spun like a starting up centrifuge. Upon finishing his hand washing, he opened the door leading to the changing room where he was met by his boss, Miya Osamu.

Akaashi automatically bowed, “Good…” He trailed off, was it morning or evening? “…day Mr. Miya.”

Osamu Miya’s gray locks curtained his eyes momentarily as he returned the gesture, “Akaashi, why aren’t you home yet?”

He levelled his eyes to his superior, his emeralds meeting the other’s chocolate browns, “I was on my way home Mr. Miya.”

Osamu held his hand up as he chuckled, “Please, just Osamu. Anyways, I’ve got something to tell you, could you drop by my office after you’ve changed?”

Akaashi nodded, “Sure sir.”

“Good, and please do get some rest when you get home.”

Akaashi let out a half-hearted laugh, “Yes sir.”

\--

The walk to the office was more laborious than usual with the lethargy that weighed down on Akaashi’s entire being. Climbing the usual freights of stairs was suddenly a tedious task that took him nearly ten minutes when he knew he could climb it less than three.

_ Perhaps I do need some rest. _

The three knocks to Osamu’s door were weak and faint he was unsure if the man heard him till the door opened, cold air blowing on his face like a recently opened refrigerator. 

“Akaashi, please take a seat.” Osamu said, gesturing the black one-seater chaise in front of his table as he took a longer route to get to the swivel chair behind, a hand gliding on the golden nameplate that said: Osamu Miya, RMT MD.

Akaashi collapsed on the couch, his thighs and back sinking on the soft foam embedded under the leather covering. Comfort washed over Akaashi his lids getting heavier by the second, momentarily forgetting that he was on his boss’s office as his mind drifted to thoughts of his own bedroom.

Osamu chuckled, “Akaashi, I know you’re sleepy but please bear with me for a while.”

Akaashi violently shook his head as he planted both palms on his cheeks, trying to hide the flush brought by his embarrassment. “I’m sorry sir.”

Osamu waved his hand dismissively, “No problem. Anyways…” He paused to retrieve a folder from his file organizer—a brown folder which he unfolded in front of Akaashi, “Congratulations. You’re one step closer to getting a scholarship to Harvard medicine.”

Akaashi blinked, as he tried to process his boss’s words. Him? Getting into the final interview for a shot at studying medicine at Harvard? 

“Your final interview is in a few days,” Osamu said with a smile, “But it’s just formalities really, it’s almost certain that you’ll be getting the scholarship.”

It was then when the euphoria finally kicked in coupled with whole body tremors, misty eyes, and the heart-filling realization that finally, after a lifetime of dreaming, his dreams was merely an arm’s reach away.

The happiness was short-lived however when his phone vibrated, his boyfriend’s name together with the message notification that said: ‘ _Are you going home tonight?_ ’ flashing on his phone screen.

How was he supposed to tell him this?

\--

Akaashi sighed in relief as he walked towards the familiar white door of their apartment, fingers automatically punching in the passcode he could never forget—their anniversary date. 

He thought his exhaustion had reached its peak, but as he opened the door, a newfound fatigue pulled down on his shoulders, his knees almost buckling as he trudged forward.

Envelopes carpeted the entrance, the familiar logos of the water, power, and internet company printed on the upper right corner, his own name peeking from the plastic film of the envelope. He picked them up one by one, trying to ignore the chaos that waited ahead—he wanted to deal with this one first.

After a series of paper tearing, small gasps and fumbling over his phone calculator, Akaashi stared at the value reflected by his phone screen, fished his wallet and pried it open, letting out a deep sigh when he realizes his salary was just enough to cover their bills and rent, with some spare change for him to buy canned goods for them to ration until his next pay arrives.

Akaashi closed his eyes as he tried to stop the tears that threatened to escape. Three months ago, their life was as closest as it could be to perfection. They both had jobs, more than enough money to buy their wants and simultaneously pay for their needs. Now, here he was, trying to figure out how to place food in their dining table.

Rest would have to wait for Akaashi, as he picked up a plastic bag that had been lying on the floor and started to slowly retrieve trash that was riddled over the apartment like a teen’s sick joke for a treasure hunt. Except the culprit for the mess wasn’t a teen, but his twenty-six-year-old boyfriend who was fast asleep in the living room couch, the unattended television parallel to him rambling endlessly.

“At least turn off the television.” Akaashi sighed as he pressed the red button on the remote, the plastic bag in his hand now full of scrap, yet the apartment was nowhere near clean.

Akaashi winced as the smell of rotten food pulled his nostrils towards the direction of the kitchen. Dirty dishes had piled in the sink, the trace of food now indistinguishable over the blanket of mold and maggots. With what was left of his strength, Akaashi braved the mess his boyfriend couldn’t afford to clean. 

After three full trash bags, at least two liters of boiling water, lots of soap and what was left of his energy, Akaashi managed to make their apartment look mildly presentable and prepared some dinner—two packs of ramen noodles.

By the time he had finished setting the table, his boyfriend had finally awoken from his slumber, drunk marching across the living room to greet him with an embrace.

“You should’ve told me you arrived home.” Kotaro’s voice was gravelly, his stubble grazing Akaashi as he nuzzled his chin on Keiji’s neck.

Akaashi’s hand instinctively brushed Kotaro’s hair, noting the oily feeling from his unwashed and unkempt hair, “Did you even shower?”

He felt his boyfriend head shook; Akaashi tried to repress an exasperated sigh.

“How’s your leg?” He asked as he turned around to see his boyfriend better. Kotaro’s cheek had sunk to reveal his bony features in an unflattering manner, having been brought about by the lack of a healthy lifestyle. There were now bags under his eyes when it previously had none, his golden eyes now a mere dull yellow, his strong build, the muscles that had spiked rubber balls in lightning speed across the court was now hidden beneath dry skin and a thin cushion of fat.

People said that Bokuto Kotaro died on the day of his retirement three months ago. But Akaashi’s heart refused to believe that, still beating earnestly in front of the familiar stranger that enveloped his body in an embrace.

However, his question remained unanswered as his boyfriend stared at him blankly.

“Let’s eat? Or do you want to have a shower first?” Akaashi asked.

“Let’s eat. I’ll shower after, I’m hungry.”

Akaashi’s mind was floating in the air as they partook their dinner, torn between which issue to address first, his sleep-deprivation, his boyfriend’s insensitivity, or the pressing matter that he was bound to leave the country as soon as he finishes the interview in a week.

His throat tightened with every swallow of chewed ramen, making the task of forming words impossible to accomplish. Mustering courage was not in his priorities as of the moment—not when he couldn’t even think straight.

Not when the man he loved was becoming more and more of a stranger with each passing day.

So, he ate in silence, trying to endure the incoherent screaming of his mind and the growing pain of his cracking heart.

\--

The sound of water sloshing pierced across the silence of the night. The gray crescent in the dark skies mirroring the frown in Akaashi’s lips as he changed their bed sheets, chucking the huge fabric on their overflowing laundry basket.

Keiji had long changed to his pyjamas, having been able to shower first after Kotaro finally volunteered to wash the dishes. He lay on his back as his heavy and tired body sunk on the comforts of his mattress.

He thought having fresh sheets would somehow ease his mind and lull him to sleep, but he just found himself staring at the ceiling, mind lost in wonder as to how he couldn’t find comfort in his own bed.

The bathroom door creaked open, revealing a shaved Kotaro wearing nothing but his boxer shorts. He offered a weak smile as his lover climbed in the bed, his body jostling lightly as the former snaked his arm under Akaashi, the other wrapped in his waist for an embrace.

Akaashi leaned to his side to bury his face on Bokuto’s neck, finding relief when his mind finally cleared itself of troubling thoughts. It was something that Kotaro could only do.

He felt Kotaro’s touch tilt his head upwards, followed by soft lips pressing on his. Akaashi tried his best to respond to the kiss, but the fatigue translated his acts of passion as nothing but a weak moan.

“Akaashi…” Kotaro groaned as his hips started grinding against Akaashi’s to no avail. “What’s wrong baby? You’re not hard.”

“I’m tired Kou…” Akaashi croaked as he retreated to the comforts of Bokuto’s neck as he assumed a fetal position, his knee pressing on the latter’s hard on.

“But we haven’t done it in months…” Kotaro whispered.

_ And I’ve been working twelve hours in those months Kou, give me a break,  _ he wanted to say, but his mind had already drifted to sleep.

\--

“Akaashi, did you go home yesterday?” Kuroo asked from his work cell as he busied himself with his microscope.

He continued with pipetting reagents unto tubes, “Yeah, I did. What’s the matter?”

Kuroo eyes flickered towards him before it hovered back to the microscope eyepiece, “You still look stressed, it’s like you slept on a bed of nails.”

Akaashi sighed, “You’re not entirely wrong.”

“Did you have a fight with that useless boyfriend of yours again?” 

Akaashi’s glower to his busy co-worker went unseen, “He’s not useless, Kuroo.”

Kuroo reclined his back as he levelled his eyes on Akaashi who wore a scowl, “He is, Akaashi.”

“He’s just recuperating, Kuroo. He’s not a lost cause.” Akaashi defended, though he was uncertain on why he found his own heart racing, as if he just caught himself lying.

“Akaashi, the doctors said he’s fully well two months ago, right?”

Akaashi fell silent. 

Kuroo continued, “It’s him who insists he’s not well, right? Even when his x-rays showed that his femur had completely healed, right?” Kuroo groaned, “Come on, Akaashi. We work in healthcare; we know stuff like this. _You_ know that Bokuto’s therapy sessions is just a lame excuse of his denial that he can’t get back to playing volleyball.”

Akaashi blinked rapidly as hot tears flowed in his cheeks. Kuroo was right. Two months ago, the doctors declared Kotaro as completely recovered. Akaashi thought that a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders, the surgery had cost Bokuto nearly all of his severance pay—his savings siphoned by the outpatient medication he had to take.

Yet Akaashi was confused when Kotaro continued to walk with a limp. The doctor explained that maybe he just got used to the weight of the cast being removed, that it was a common reaction for patients. However, things took a turn for the worse when Kotaro stopped walking, saying that he needed therapy still. 

_ “Keiji, I think I still need therapy.” _

_ Akaashi frowned, “But you’ve been walking fine all this time. Plus, the doctor’s said you already—” _

_ Kotaro’s hands clenched into fists, “I know my own body Keiji! Who are you going to believe?! Me, or those fucking doctors who has in it for the money?!” He yelled, cheeks scarlet with fury. _

_ Akaashi was appalled, yet he swallowed down the words he desperately wanted to say and nodded. _

“You’ve been working for 12 hours for the last two months Keiji, trying to make ends meet while paying for your boyfriend’s useless therapy.”

The mechanical pipette trembled in his hands as he sobbed uncontrollably, “He… he’ll come back soon enough.” 

Kuroo’s dark eyes looked at him with mixed concern and fury, “At what cost?”

\--

Akaashi finished another 12-hour shift peacefully, this time making it to the outside of the hospital without hobbling like a patient escaping from the ICU. Upon reaching the parking lot, his brows furrowed in confusion as he saw Osamu leaning on his car’s hood.

“Boss? Is there a problem?” Akaashi asked as he hurriedly approached his car.

Osamu smiled, “Nothing at all. I just got out as well. You do know tomorrow’s the date for your final interview, right?

Akaashi was taken aback, his mind had only been concerned with work and household chores for the past few days that he completely forgot. It was hard to think of his dreams when he was so busy trying to survive.

“I nearly forgot.” Akaashi admitted.

His boss chuckled, “Do you have anything to wear?”

Akaashi nibbed on his bottom lip, “I think I can wear that suit I wore back on the welcoming ceremony for new employees.”

Osamu frowned, “Surely you don’t think of wearing a year-old suit Keiji?”

He winced, “It’s actually the same suit I wore back in college.”

Osamu shook his head, “Let’s buy you a new one. My treat.”

Akaashi was flustered by the sudden proposition, “Mr. Miya, there’s no nee—"

His sentence came undone as his boss hushed him with a finger, “No complains. I can’t have my protégé wearing an old suit in such an important day.”

Akaashi felt his heart swell as his stomach bubbled in mirth, “Thank you, Osamu.”

It turned out his boss had an excellent taste in fashion. Akaashi just stood there as his boss made him try various combinations of formal clothing, all fitting him perfectly Akaashi wondered if his boss lived secretly as a fashion designer.

Keiji had to stop Osamu from buying an entire rack’s worth of clothing when the man was troubled on what suit he would buy Akaashi. After settling on a classic black suit, and a couple of dragging when Osamu proposed he buy Keiji a watch under the guise of an _advanced parting gift,_ Akaashi finally managed to get home.

The usual mess of the apartment greeted him—minus the monthly bills he had just paid recently. Kotaro was still lounged in the couch, oblivious of his presence as he trotted towards their bedroom to hang his newly bought suit in the closet. 

Just as he was about to fold the bags to keep them for storage, Kotaro walked in with a confused expression in his face.

“You couldn’t even announce your arrival?” He asked with furrowed brows, “What are these bags?”

“Oh, it’s from my boss. He bought me a suit for tomorrow’s event.” Akaashi answered as he folded the last paper bag.

“Isn’t your boss a guy?” Kotaro said, his tone sharp.

Akaashi’s emerald eyes flickered towards Kotaro’s, “Yeah. What about it?”

Kotaro huffed, “You could’ve at least sent me a text, a heads up would be nice.”

Akaashi stood, yet his eyes never left Kotaro, “You could’ve also cleaned the apartment, but here we are.” He snapped as he walked past Kotaro with a shove.

The broom bristles grated harshly against the wooden floor as Akaashi swept the trash into a dustpan before transferring it into a trash bag. He heard Kotaro’s footsteps crescendo before a pair of hands tried to grab the cleaning equipment off his hand.

“Let me do it, Keiji.” 

Keiji’s eyes never left the floor, “Just let me do it Kotaro. Go to sleep or watch television or something.”

“Keiji, just let me do it.”

An exasperated sigh escapes his lips, “Just let go, Kotaro. Don’t make this hard for the both of us.”

Kotaro’s hands slowly softened its grip, with it came the unheard sound of Akaashi’s own heart shattering into a million pieces.

Had it been three months ago, Kotaro wouldn’t have let go. He would’ve insisted he sweep the floor while apologizing to Akaashi. The Kotaro he loves would never retreat to the living room when a newly formed rift had formed between them.

Yet he could clearly feel how Kotaro’s touches floated away, every thud his retreating footsteps made was crisp on his eardrums, his tears were hot and fresh against his cheeks. His mind playing a broken record of his own crushing question: _How could you let go so easily?_

\--

Akaashi wanted to leave early. He found himself waking up in Bokuto’s embrace, yet he found the usually warm embraces cold, hollow even. The bed that was soft to the touch back then was stiff as a board against his back.

“Kou, wake up.” He said, his voice gravelly as he pried off Bokuto’s embrace a bit forcefully, stirring the man awake.

“Today’s your therapy, right?” He asked as he undressed himself up till his boxers and hastily wrapped his bath robe, “I’ll drop you by the hospital. You use the car to get home, I’ll take the bus.”

Kotaro rubbed his eyes, seemingly disoriented as he tried to climb off the bed, “Keiji…” 

Akaashi spared Kotaro a cold glance over his shoulder as he walked in the bathroom, slamming the door shut with a bang, leaving whatever his boyfriend wanted to say in the depths of his own mind.

\--

Akaashi blinked as he stared at himself in the mirror, clothed with the suit Osamu had bought for him. For the first time in months, he found himself… decent. Though the bags under his eyes were still there, it had been significantly reduced from catching sleep. The fabric accentuated Akaashi’s best features: the curve that trailed from his ribcage to his obliques, his slender legs carved to detail like a renaissance statue.

He looked good. He _felt_ good, even just for a moment, Akaashi managed to take a glimpse of what was left of his waning positive self-image.

His eyes widened as Osamu’s person stepped into view, “Are you ready for your interview?”

Akaashi offered his boss a genuine smile, “Yes.”

\--

“Congratulations Mr. Akaashi Keiji, we hope to see you at Harvard the soonest.” One of the panel of interviewers, an old man roughly at his sixties, said as he shook Akaashi’s hand.

His eyes were teary as a woman patted his back, “Your flight details will be briefed to you by Mr. Osamu Miya. I am hoping for an uneventful flight.”

Akaashi’s hands were trembling as he walked out of the meeting room where he was met by a smiling Osamu. “Congratulations, Keiji.”

He felt nauseous as he pointed outside, “Air. Need fresh air.” 

Akaashi hobbled his way outside, one arm planted on Osamu’s shoulder.

“Your flight is scheduled by the morrow Keiji. The administration wants you to make it there in time for the welcome ceremony.” 

The information was left untranslated by the overwhelming feeling of ecstasy that brought a newfound energy to his muscles.

“Osamu, I’m going to become a doctor!” He screamed as he flung his arms around his boss who automatically grabbed his hips as he whirled.

Their screams of glee and celebration was stopped however, when Akaashi felt a hand grabbed him by the wrist, flinging him off Osamu’s grip as he skidded on the pavement before recovering his balance.

“Oh, Mr. Bokuto, you finally arrived. Akaashi got—”

“Shut up.” Bokuto hissed with a scowl.

Akaashi’s head snapped towards Bokuto as he tried to loosen the tightening grip on his pulse, “Kotaro what are you doing? He’s just congratu— Ow!” 

His sentence came unfinished as Bokuto dragged his feet on the direction of their parked car.

“That bastard texts me to come here and I see him embracing you like nobody’s business?” Bokuto said without turning his back, completely ignoring Akaashi’s cries of pain.

Akaashi planted his soles firmly at the ground as he freed himself from Kotaro’s grasp with a simple twist of the wrist, “What is wrong with you?!”

Kotaro pivoted to face Akaashi, “What is wrong with _you!”_

“Me?” Akaashi scoffed, his mouth gaping as he shot Kotaro an incredulous look.

“Yes Keiji, you. First, you let your boss buy you clothes, then you go ahead and share an embrace with him? Are you cheating—” 

Kotaro’s words were chucked back in his throat by Akaashi’s reverberating slap. Keiji’s hands trembled as he took Kotaro by the collar, “How fucking dare you insinuate that Bokuto Kotaro.”

Bokuto’s expression of fury turned to a crestfallen one as he saw fresh tears coursing on Akaashi’s cheek.

“For years Kotaro… For five fucking years I was on your side. When no one believed in you–not even yourself, I was there. I ran back and forth on the halls of the hospital just so I could check if your chest still rose and fell—just to check that you hadn’t given up on your own life…” Akaashi’s shoulders shook uncontrollably as he sobbed.

“Keiji…”

“When you recuperated, I was the happiest person alive. Cause after a long time, my Kotaro was back… But you never returned. I thought the man I once loved died on the operating room, but still I hoped. I hoped that he didn’t die, that he was just there sleeping, recovering…”

Akaashi clutched his chest as he took in deep breaths, “I worked my fucking ass out to keep our life afloat Kotaro. You left me alone to fight a battle meant to be fought by two! While you sat on the couch, having the time of your life, I was sleep-deprived in the hospital trying to earn enough money to put food in our god-damned table!”

Kotaro’s immobile hands moved to wrap Akaashi’s trembling body in an embrace, “I’m sorry Keiji…”

“I had to lose myself to find even a phantom of the great man you used to be Kotaro. I had to bleed a thousand cuts so that I could tend to a wound that you keep on opening.” 

Akaashi weakly pushed his way off the embrace, his tear-stained emeralds meeting Kotaro’s. Once upon a time he loved swimming in the starlike shimmer of his irises, but now the sight of it was enough to make his stomach retch.

“I had to hate you for you to realize that you still love me.”

Kotaro’s throat bobbed as he gulped spit, “Keiji… but I have always loved you.”

“THEN WHERE WERE YOU?! WHERE WERE YOU WHEN MY LEGS BUCKLED FROM OVERWORKING?! WHERE WERE YOU WHEN MY HANDS TREMBLED RESTLESSLY FROM WORKING MY WITS OUT ONLY TO COME HOME TO A SHITHOLE OF A HOUSE?! WHERE WERE YOU!” 

“I’m sorry Keiji… “Kotaro said as he held his lover by the shoulders.

“Let’s break up.” 

Kotaro’s hands slumped back on his sides, “Keiji… please. Let’s talk about this. Let’s go home, ye—“

Keiji smiled weakly, “That place stopped being my home for months, Kotaro.”

Kotaro’s knees buckled on him as his kneecaps landed on the concrete with a thud, “Keiji… please, don’t leave me.” He said as he held on Akaashi’s hands tightly, silently wishing he’d stay, that he’d give him a chance.

But he felt the hands resist. With each weak pull and twist came a silent but heart-shattering message.

_ Let me go. _

So, he did.

As fingers were released from his grasp, his mind played a thousand images of Akaashi Keiji, smiling so beautifully as the time he said yes, lips moist as the time when they would lose themselves in a night filled with passion. His hands smooth, unscathed by labor, his eyes beaming, not a tinge of fatigue corrupting his undereye. 

The imagery reminded him of the Akaashi Keiji he once had and lost.

\--

“Keiji, are you sure you’re alright?” Osamu asked, his brows furrowed.

Akaashi met his boss’s eyes and gave him a smile. “I’m not. But I will be.”

He felt Osamu’s hand land on the small of his back, “Just give me a call when you need someone to talk to.”

A woman’s voice boomed across the entire airport, “Calling all passengers for Sky Air flight 12-2020…” 

Akaashi stood and brushed off imaginary dust off his coat, “That’s my flight.”

Osamu gave him a tight embrace, “Good luck over there, future Doctor.”

Keiji offered Osamu a smile as he dragged his feet across the tiled floor, his luggage in tow as he blended with the sea of boarding passengers.

Akaashi squinted as the golden rays of the sun hit his face and obscured his vision. For a moment, he was reminded of Kotaro. The man’s eyes were like the sun—bright but blinding if you fixate on it for too long.

But to hate the sun would be illogical, stupid even. For how could someone despise the very thing that brought life to every living thing on this earth?

How could he hate the man that once showed him how it felt to be loved wholeheartedly?

He couldn’t.

But he wasn’t going to lose himself chasing something that doesn’t want to be caught.

So, he boards the plane.

**Author's Note:**

> The title and overall plot was inspired by Fergie's Big Girls Don't Cry. Give it a listen :)


End file.
